GREEN LANTERN #77 JUNE 1970

September 27, 2020

GREEN LANTERN #77 JUNE 1970

"Let's see yuh be a hero without your Power Ring!" yells an angry looking guy brandishing a shotgun. Our wounded heroes, Green Lantern and Green Arrow appear defenceless as the man and his black-shirted goons charge at them. 'In the heart of America-- a War Zone!' reads the caption on this Neal Adams cover illustration.

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GREEN LANTERN #77 is about leaders. Certain types of leader. The sorts of men who rule through fear and oppression and violence. Who surround themselves with paid thugs and get rid of anyone who challenges their authority. You may or may not be prompted to think of figures around the world today who match this description -- leaders who equally might be the targets of Denny O'Neil's writing if it were published today. Published as it was in 1970, references are made to one such leader whose reign had been curtailed some 25 years previously-- Adolf Hitler. O'Neil's mouthpiece, Green Arrow also points to Ghengis Khan and the Roman Emperor Nero.

I have written previously about #76 of this title, detailing how it was in many ways my introduction to traditional superhero comics, albeit 50 years after it was originally published. Since reading and writing about that issue I have become aware that in many ways Green Lantern is no ordinary superhero character. Much loved by his legions of fans, I am now aware that the incarnation presented on these stories written by Denny O'Neil and illustrated by Neal Adams in 1970 is just one of several incarnations of the character. This story arc has also prompted me to seek out titles such as JUSTICE LEAGUE OF AMERICA, discovering how intertwined the various superhero titles are. The dichotomy between the two heroes continues through this issue, with the title character again musing on his newly acquired awareness of the world not being simply a "black-and-white place".

#77 begins with the superheroes and their Guardian accomplice entering the mountain community of Desolation. In case any readers missed the previous issue, a helpful caption informs us that they are 'seeking an answer, a creed, an identity'. Immediately they are ambushed by gunmen, prompting the Guardian to end his transmission to his own people, declaring matter-of-factly that he is "about to experience violence".

Having neutralised the threat, the trio discover that their attackers are desperate, bitter men, suspicious of any outsiders, taking them to be "more 'a Slapper's hired killers". As with the previous issue, O'Neil's target for attack this issue is a wealthy, immoral exploiter of other human beings. This time the character we are presented with is Slapper Soames, a mine owner who lives in a fortress and employs machine-gun toting former Nazis to keep the workforce under his heel.

At the heart of this story, however, is another character-- Jacob. Presented from the outset as spokesperson for the miners, he serves as narrator for the backstory.

But (spoiler alert!), Jacob is not what he first appears to be. At the story's conclusion it is revealed that he is in fact a fifth columnist, that he has been employed by Soames all along to "rile" the miners "so they'd move 'fore they was ready". The miners seem to trust him without question, since he is clearly one of them. It is his greed for personal gain that has led him to betray his own people.

Re-reading the story with this knowledge we can see how low this man has stooped. He presents the miners' plight passionately and with an authenticity that can only come from having lived himself through the hardships he describes. But the fact that he has switched his loyalty to his oppressor and is now working to speed up his own people's demise prompts unsettling questions about the darkness of humanity.

He talks persuasively about how the miners feel trapped in their subjugation since they "don't know any other kind 'a work, an' even if we did, there ain't none around". Compounding this, he explains that they are "plain folk" who won't give up their land because it has been passed down to them through the generations. He talks about the community's "self-respect" and "discontent" and "troubles"-- clearly he understands what Soames is doing to the community, but instead of feeling any empathy with them he wants instead to be on the side of the oppressors.

And when Green Arrow points out the folly of attacking Soames' fortress with "clubs and pitchforks" he rallies the men of Desolation by playing not only on their bruised machismo but also their insularity, accusing GA of shooting his mouth off with unwelcome "big city advice". He is a rabble-rouser who understands how to exploit weakness in a way which ultimately serves those in power.

Now that one of their number, a young man called Johnny Walden, has been imprisoned by Soames and sentenced to be executed, Jacob's task is to stir the community up sufficiently to launch an assault on Soames' men, one which will inevitably be thwarted by their superior firepower. It's a bold, subversive idea for a mainstream comic aimed principally at a young readership-- that those in power foment revolutionary action purely in order to defeat it and further tighten their grip.

O'Neil also reveals his faith in the power of the artist to challenge authority. Johnny Walden is presented as something of a local Bob Dylan, writing and singing "songs 'bout us an' our troubles" which has resulted in the community rediscovering its self-respect and being motivated to strike back at last. It's a noble thought on the part of the story's writer, that a musician telling truths can somehow make a downtrodden populace rise up against its oppressors. But it might also be naive in the extreme. Wishful thinking, if you like.

While I can readily accept that the authorities might want such a dissenting voice silenced, I do question whether an entire community would react in the way the figures are depicted as they gather round to listen to Walden singing about ending their "cryin' children's woe".

On the one hand, it's a lovely thought that a song, or a poem, or a novel, or a comic, or a painting, or a film or any piece of art or performance can influence the thinking of those who hear it or see it or read it. I can't help wondering whether the folk of Desolation might hear Walden's song and many of them might agree with its sentiments, but that its effect on them will be minimal. Is it possible or even likely that it would restore the self-esteem of more than just a handful of listeners? Would the community as a whole rise up against its oppressors? Or would too many of them be apathetic, or, worse still, gulled into believing Slapper Soames actually has their best interests at heart despite all evidence to the contrary?

We see immediately that Soames is a bully, and the detail of his minions being former Nazis underlines his villainous credentials. Green Arrow ensures we can't miss the allusion when he jumps down Green Lantern's throat for contending that Soames deserves respect since he is an authority figure. "Hitler was the 'boss' of Germany," GA retorts, continuing that "throughout history, cheap punks have made themselves leaders". OK, so the readership of 1970 would have no problem that here's a guy to jeer at, a baddie with no redeeming features.

But is Soames truly representative of real-world bad guys like Hitler? We are unwise to forget the fact that Hitler was a popular leader with a significant proportion of the German people. That he used propaganda and misinformation to divide them, to demonise sections of the population and win others over with the promise of wealth and power and glory. If O'Neil's story was true to what it purports to be paralleling then Walden and anyone allying themselves with him would have been demonised by Soames while a significant enough proportion of the community would have believed the lies to ensure he could continue unopposed. Put simply, Soames would have used the fifth columnist Jacob to help make himself popular. We only have to look at today's politicians to see how they too use demonisation and division to maintain their positions. They might be derided and hated by many for their attitudes and methods, but they are loved, praised and respected by significant numbers of people who feel that these leaders share their concerns and will ultimately bring them wealth, security and happiness. Despite all evidence to the contrary.

Maybe that's asking a lot of a self-contained 23-page story. Maybe it's too complicated an idea to tackle in a publication which will predominantly be read by children. There's always the danger that some might misinterpret the writer's basic message if it's not made plain and simple to understand. Or maybe not. Maybe it's not just Denny O'Neil in this story who, with all good intentions, presents tyrannical leaders as unlikeable and lacking in any qualities that might be admired or understood by others. Maybe it's a flaw in much of our story-telling that we don't find the populist demagogues we see in our real lives represented in our fictions often enough. Maybe if we did we'd be so much closer to understanding how these "cheap punks" rise to power and how they maintain it and more importantly, how they could be prevented from attaining it in the first place.

There are some great moments in this story. On page 8 we get a bird's eye view of the community of Desolation. O'Neil's indulges himself in a bleakly poetic description of the place and its inhabitants. Most unsettling is the detail that "children quickly learn that life is unending misery and death is merciful..." Again, I wonder whether parents or other family members buying this comicbook for their kids in 1970 would have had any awareness that its contents included such harsh concepts, and how they would have felt if they had known.

Having heard the lyrics in Denton's song about "cryin' children's woe", page 17 offers the Guardian a chance to witness for himself such a child, lost and terrified amidst the noise and smoke of battle. Comforting the girl he cannot help feeling the human emotion of compassion. Having seen in #76 how the Guardians seem cold and unempathetic, representative in many ways of unfeeling governments whose policies protect the wealthy and powerful, this moment in which he provides protection to a true innocent demonstrates O'Neil's faith that change and redemption are possible for even the most cold-hearted.

The story ends on a suitably sour note. As Soames and his men are defeated, Green Lantern declares that "justice" has been delivered and that the miners have won. But Green Arrow points out that many of them have been killed in the attack on Soames' fortress. His especially bleak conclusion is that they have "nothing to look forward to except more poverty... and ignorance..." The heroes' heads are bowed and the miners' families troop through the village without triumph.

So, as the duo return to their journey to discover "the pretty part of America" the reader is prompted to question whether such a place actually exists.